95: Chapter 95 Fury's Second Contact

"Only when things are in chaos do things on the ground fall underground."

Three days after that sentence was spoken, it wasn't an object that fell.

It was a phone call.

September 9th, 2:40 PM, first floor of the Antique Shop.

Yan Zheng was dusting a Qing Dynasty pastel vase, the bristle brush sweeping down the curve of the vase body, dust drifting in the slanted afternoon sunlight.

There were no customers in the shop, the radio was playing jazz, and the sound of the saxophone lazily clung to the walls.

The encrypted phone under the counter vibrated once.

Yan Zheng put down the vase and took the phone out of the drawer.

The number was hidden, but only one person had ever used that encrypted frequency.

He pressed the answer button.

"Good afternoon."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the line, followed by Burns' steady voice.

"Mr. Yan, sorry to disturb you."

"Mr. Burns, long time no see." Yan Zheng clamped the phone between his ear and shoulder, freeing up his hand to continue working on the vase with the bristle brush.

"Is Mr. Fury doing well?"

"He asked me to pass on a few words."

"Please go ahead."

Burns paused for a moment, as if choosing his words, or perhaps confirming his surroundings.

"In Brooklyn Red Hook District, around 4:00 AM on August 16th, an abandoned chemical plant suffered an internal explosion due to leftover hazardous chemicals, causing the foundation to collapse."

Yan Zheng's bristle brush made a circle around the mouth of the vase.

"I saw the news. A very unfortunate accident."

"Mr. Fury says—well done."

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ≖ ꒳ ≖ ˵ )

"Mr. Burns, I don't quite understand the context. What does the chemical plant accident have to do with me?"

Burns' tone didn't change.

"Mr. Fury also said, don't blow it up so loudly next time. Residents of three blocks in Red Hook District complained to the Seismological Bureau, and the investigation team was busy for a week just to cover it up."

Yan Zheng put the bristle brush back into the tool box and switched the phone to his other hand.

"Mr. Burns, if Mr. Fury is just calling to express his concern about the safety hazards of chemical plants, then I accept his goodwill."

"But I suspect you aren't just here to chat about demolition news today."

The sound of paper turning came from the other end of the line, very soft, just one page.

"Mr. Fury asked me to pass on one thing to you. As a continuation of our sincerity."

"Please."

"The Mutant Registration Act will be put to a Senate vote in two months."

Yan Zheng's fingers paused on the counter surface.

"Continue."

"If the act passes, all Mutants across the U.S. will be forced to reveal their identities. All Mutant genetic information, ability types, residential addresses, and social connections will be entered into the federal database."

"Mr. Burns, I've heard of this. The flyers in the Mutant community arrive even faster than your organization's encrypted calls."

"What Mr. Fury wants me to add is the part that won't be written on the flyers."

Burns' voice dropped half a tone.

"Once the act enters the voting process, the divergence between Charles and Magneto will be completely publicized. Both sides are already gathering their forces. One side is taking the parliamentary lobbying route, the other is taking the violent resistance route."

"A split."

"Yes. And the federal government is not monolithic either. The Military hawks are pushing the act, but there are also moderates dragging their feet. During the two-month voting period, the various forces will repeatedly contend with each other."

Yan Zheng leaned against the edge of the counter, his gaze falling on the dust particles illuminated by the afternoon sunlight at the shop entrance.

"Mr. Burns, Mr. Fury having you tell me this isn't just because he's generous."

"What does he want me to know?"

Burns' answer was very direct.

"What will happen then, Mr. Fury says—you should be able to guess."

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ✧ ⌓ ✧ )

The phone was quiet for five seconds.

The radio jazz changed tracks, piano sounds replaced the saxophone, and the tempo quickened a little.

"Mr. Burns."

"Yes."

"Mr. Fury is telling me that many Mutants will die in New York in two months."

"Mr. Fury did not use that phrasing."

"But he knows I understand."

Burns did not deny it.

Yan Zheng drew a circle on the counter surface with his index finger, his fingertip feeling the grain of the wood, rough and warm.

"Mr. Burns, please thank Mr. Fury for the information on my behalf."

"There is one more thing."

"Please."

"Are the plainclothes investigators appearing around Red Hook District Mr. Fury's men?"

This time Burns paused for three seconds.

"They are not ours."

"Mr. Fury is also investigating their source. What is currently confirmed is that the instruments they are using come from a mass-produced, simplified version of Weapon X's early research results. The precision is not high; it can only identify the external wavebands after a Mutant's gene is activated and cannot penetrate shielding."

"Does 'cannot penetrate shielding' mean that if a person stays in an Underground Room, or if their skeleton is wrapped in Undead Energy, their instruments can't detect them?"

"That is not within the scope of what I can confirm."

"I understand."

Yan Zheng changed his posture, switching the phone from his right hand to his left.

"Mr. Burns, one last question."

"Speak."

"Does Mr. Fury have any technical files on that blue-light rifle from E.S.S.?"

There was silence on the other end of the line for a while.

"I'm not sure what model you are referring to."

"An energy weapon that can dissolve petrified alloys, with three concentric metal rings on the muzzle and blue glowing elements."

"I will pass on your question."

"Thank you."

"Mr. Yan, there is one point I need to add personally."

"Please."

Burns' tone changed; it was no longer the neutral tone of a messenger, but carried a hint of his own.

"Mr. Fury rarely takes the initiative to pass information to people, especially information involving timelines. When he does this, there are usually two possibilities."

"Which two?"

"The first is that he needs someone to do something at a certain point in time. The second is that he is testing how someone will react after hearing the news."

Yan Zheng chuckled, very lightly, the sound coming from his nasal cavity.

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ≖ ᗜ ≖ ˵ )

"Mr. Burns, did Mr. Fury ask you to say this, or did you add it yourself?"

"Mr. Fury does not know I said this last part."

"Then I accept your kindness."

"Goodbye, Mr. Yan."

"Goodbye."

The call hung up. The encrypted frequency returned to silence.

Yan Zheng put the phone back into the drawer and locked it.

He stood behind the counter, watching the patch of afternoon sunlight at the shop entrance move slowly, the light spot crawling from the floor up to the lower edge of the door frame.

"Harvest season."

He rolled the phrase over his tongue.

"Mr. Fury is telling me that in two months, the ground will be covered in fresh Mutant corpses."

"He thinks I will be interested."

"He guessed right."

Yan Zheng took out the flyer Old Jack gave him from under the counter, unfolded it, and placed it next to the vase, his gaze landing on the two signature lines at the end.

Charles Xavier.

Magneto.

"The peace faction and the radical faction, no matter who wins, things will fall on the battlefield."

"Psychic types, Metal Manipulation types, holders of various high-quality genes will be exposed on a large scale in the conflict."

His finger tapped lightly on the word Magneto.

"Metal Manipulation."

"Bridging material."

The complete utilization plan for the Legendary-grade X-23 requires Metal Manipulation genes. Two months ago, this path was still a dead end, but now Fury has lit the streetlights for him.

Yan Zheng folded the flyer back up and put it into his inner jacket pocket.

"Mr. Fury wants to cultivate a pawn."

"Letting me play the role of a scavenger in the Mutant civil war, cleaning up the dead for him while conveniently weakening both sides."

He walked to the window, watching the sparse pedestrians on Ninth Avenue.

"However, Mr. Fury."

"The difference between a pawn and a chess player is."

"A pawn cannot decide for itself when to flip the chessboard."

Yan Zheng pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses, the afternoon sunlight falling on the lenses, refracting a bright white arc.

"Two months."

"Just enough time for me to polish the Elite-grade to combat-ready status."

"In Mr. Magneto's Brotherhood, just how many Metal Manipulation Mutants are there?"

He turned and walked toward the back door, preparing to go down to the Underground Room.

"Mr. System."

"Help me start a new procurement list."

"Title it—Registration Act Harvest Season."